My Dog Madigan Came To The Wedding

Last week my step-granddaughter was married in my back yard. Her name is Megan which seems to make her a natural soul mate to my Madigan. Needless to say Madigan was a guest. It is after all his back yard.

Mindful of Madigan's propensity to chase any form of wild life specimen entering his territory,I kept him securely on a leash or confined to the house. It was partially successful. Partially-- for in the middle of the solemn exchanges of vows he decided to serenade us with his best Beagle baying. Father of the bride hastened to escort him into the house, out of sound and sight.

During the lawn reception Madigan was safely either secured with his leash or inside the house. When inside he was acutely observant of activity at the door. I, by the same token, was equally observant, on the guard of the door which time and time again was opened by toilet visitors. All was going well.

The on-the leash time near the food was another matter. Madigan managed to con one or another of the guests out of a hot dog. Three that I know of-- maybe some I did not see. And why not. He was after all the smallest and cutest guest.

At the end of the festivities guests, bride and groom, left. I feeling little pain after the good food, the wine and beer settled down with a tired dog for a long deserved rest. Alas after Madigan's hotdogs revisited us, I carefully cleaned up the mess and fell onto my sofa. Madigan curled up beside me, calm to rest his head on my lap as I read my novel.

Houdini Is An Understatement.

Outside my house is a big fenced area which in years before my husband's illness was a big vegetable garden. Alas the two years he battled leukemia and the two years since his death it had lain fallow. Except for that first year when I not too successfully tried to grow wild flowers.

This fence,  a sturdy chain link, with a durable double gate seemed the perfect place from my Madigan to romp. To date no other restraint has worked. (See previous blogs)

I left my Madigan in his big playpen. He ran, stopped, sniffed and ran, stopped and sniffed. In doggy heaven with the smells of rabbits and other wild creatures.  I began to mow my lawn which had responded gloriously to the recent five inches of rain. One round of the lawn, back to the garden I found the gate open. Madigan was nowhere to be seen.

Fortunately after so many escapes he has learned his way home. He returned some time later, out of breath, jumping on me as if he had not seen me for the whole day. How can you not love a dog who so obviously loves you the way he loves me? But we are in the midst of a battle.  A plan for keeping my Houdini dog home is back on the drawing board.

My Dog Madigan Talks To Me.

Should I tell you my Madigan talks to me, you most assuredly would conclude I am 'nuts'. So I will not tell you that.

But there is talking and there is talking. If talking means uttering sounds from the voice box which can logically and sensibly be placed in the framework of a human language, then my Madigan does not talk. But if talking is merely communication by sounds, uttered by one, understood another, then he most certainly does talk.

Let me explain! Madigan has at his use windows in four rooms of the house, five if you count the side porch when it is open. From those vantage points he can see: the driveway, empty of any car but mine except for rare occasion : the yard from three positions, filled on any given day with seven or eight deer, multiple squirrels, and rabbits too numerous to tell.

Squirrels elicit a low moaning sound; rabbits a deep throated yelp, deer a gasping breath with choppy 'yips'. The most vociferous vicious utterance comes when a strange car enters the driveway.

As I see it my Madigan talks to me as surely as if he says "Oh look there is a squirrel" or "We have company. I wonder who that can be?"  You have to love a dog like that. You have to be insensitive if you do not believe he is talking to you.

Madigan the Peacemaker

For reasons which need not be explored here, the relationship of my now deceased husband and me with our nearest neighbors has had its testy moments. So testy, in fact, that although  they are within calling distance we have had no contact for nearly three years.

Then enter Madigan the Peacemaker.

One of his recent rabbit chasing escapades lasted a worrisomely long time. When with dejected spirit I was ready to give up my calling and looking and calling and looking, a voice came through the trees separating my yard from the neighbors.

"What does your dog look like?"

My description elicited "He's over here. What's his name?"

"Madigan."

"Does he come when called?"

Honestly I said, "If he feels like it."

With Madigan leashed I repeatedly thanked her. "And we got off to a bad start."

"What's past is past."

All the while Madigan is tugging as his leash with a force Alaska's sled drivers would envy. Two rabbits are crossing my lawn.

What Was I Thinking When I Brought Madigan Home?

I, for the most part, consider myself a reasonably rational, moderately prudent woman. I have after all lived nearly eighty years, with a minimum of health issues (from sensible living), a scarcity of economic and social problems (from the same sensible living). So the problem?

When my beloved Petro died, and I wanted a new dog,  my sensibilities told me I should look for an old dog -- an old dog for an old woman. A sensible plan born of careful analysis of my situation. And I most likely would have done just that -- Most likely had not a pathetic, underweight, seemingly shy young beagle-terrier mix not stolen my heart. It was not that he was more handsome than other dogs at the animal shelter. Nor was he the friendliest. His appeal was that he needed me. He needed someone to care for him, to love him and more importantly to save him from the 'Kill List'. I could not let that happen to this little fellow.

When I walked him on Monday I learned of this fate. When I re-visited him on Tuesday my heart wept. On Wednesday I went again for one more look. But this time with leash and collar in my pocket. Duh!!

So I have a rabbit obsessed, not yet two year old dog.  His antics are more than an old woman would sensibly take on. But I cannot imagine my house, my life without him, without his running full speed from window to window for a sight of rabbits, without nose prints on every window. It is unimaginable. For this is a love affair which an old woman could never have anticipated.

Is It True Beagles Are Untrainable?

There are easily trained dogs. And there are not so easily trained dogs. Everybody knows that. I once had a black lab who resisted all efforts of any training. I was forced to part with him, whom I am given to understand is happily installed on a large farm.

A recent report, in multiple media, asserts that beagles as a breed firmly fall into the second category. A report that gave me pause.

My Madigan, rescued from the County Animal Shelter because he stole my heart, labeled as a Beagle-Mix, is clearly more 'Beagle' than 'Mix'. Is he un-trainable? Is he possibly a candidate for the invisible fence? 'Not likely' I hear more often than 'maybe', and certainly less often 'possibly'.

But I am not easily deterred by unfavorable odds. As is my habit I dauntlessly press on with the notion than I can train Madigan. First things first----(1) Find and check out the collar left by my dearly departed Petro who wore it as a badge of service for so many years. (2)  Relocate and mark with those lovely little white flags the fence boundary.

Likely there is some modern efficient way tool for this, but I use the only way I know. Foot by foot I carry the collar along the likely boundary, and as it beeps telling me 'here' I plant a white warning flag. This is not a ten minute task; it is not even a two hour task.  It consumes the better part of an afternoon.

Everything in order. Collar operable-- fence functional-- trainer determined-- dog nonchalant. I begin
the 'perimeter walk', ready with my 'back' command practiced for authority. Is Madigan interested? Not in the least. He approaches the boundary only when I practically drag him to it. The 'doggie god' must be on duty for this day not one rabbit is in view luring him to the edges of the boundary.

This does not promise to be a quick fix to dog control. Most likely many of Madigan's escapades will be reported before any success in boundary training success.